


Seasons: Ame

by KeiKatayama



Series: Memoir [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 24hrs in Tokyo, Champagne to celebrate reunions, Jetlag, Lost In Translation (2003) - Freeform, M/M, Park Hyatt, Rainy Season, Ramen that Gods eat, The Garden Of Words (2013), Tokyo Narita International Airport - Arrivals, Victor comes home, Yuri picks his boyfriend up from the airport
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-04-22 12:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14308920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeiKatayama/pseuds/KeiKatayama
Summary: Simple premise: Yuri goes to pick up Victor from the airport, and spoils him rotten with 24 hours in Tokyo.Occurs a few months after Victor and Yuri have lived in St Petersburg together. Part of the Memoir series, can be read as a stand alone.





	Seasons: Ame

**Author's Note:**

> Right, before you start... to understand the context properly you will need to have read The Draft before this, and this will end up tying in with events in Everything On The Ice. I appreciate however that that's quite a lot of back reading, so...
> 
> Long story short, at the end of Yuri's first season with Victor, when they're living in St Petersburg, he falls after a jump and breaks his leg. He officially retires, traumatised and ashamed, and Victor takes him home to Hasetsu to recover. In his place, Victor prepares to return, using the programs that Yuri had choreographed for what would have been his second season with Victor. He leaves to train with Yakov to get ready to compete... and decides to come back early...
> 
> And here we go...

_Seasons_

* * *

June

Tokyo

* * *

雨

_Ame_

* * *

* * *

I was glad I brought it. The rainy season was colder than I had expected.

So too was my coffee, when I lifted it to my lips. Ugh. Why did I bother getting it, I hadn't taken a single sip, what a waste. I should have got a tea, but it seemed like the done thing to do. I glanced up at the board, calculated, and spotted a nearby bin and threw away my tepid drink. Then, I took my spot again, watching.

I was playing a game to pass the time; guess where everyone was from. I didn't know this for sure, but I think I was losing; the world has gotten both smaller and larger, and people come from everywhere to anywhere. An extraordinary thing.

Then I heard the hints of a particular accent amongst the approaching crowd, and stood to attention, my eyes scanning the crowd carefully. I was looking for his unmistakable hair... there!

"Victor!"

Victor came out of Duty Free, dragging with him a large wheelie suitcase, a backpack loose over one shoulder, and he was barely looking where he was going, typing on his phone. A thin smile appeared briefly on his face as he made a pointed tap with his thumb - send? - and kept walking. I frowned... he looked so tired... " _Victor!_ "

He frowned, confused, and looked up, looking hopeful, and his mouth fell open with shock as he saw me. I reached out my arms for him... and he collided into me.

Victor... _Victor, Victor, Victor_... he was home.

My pocket chimed happily.

He was hugging me so tightly I could only just make out his words. " _Yuri_... what are you doing here...?"

I smiled, hugged him back just as tightly. "Picking my boyfriend up from the airport, of course."

A strange hummed squeak came out of him. Slowly, so slowly I started to worry, he pulled back just enough, and clasped my face with both hands. I really did worry then; he looked like he was going to cry. "I... I'm so happy to see you," he said, and finally he smiled, genuinely. I worried a little less, and pulled him in to hug him again, closing my eyes. He was back. I had my Victor back.

Finally, we parted, though he took my hand, squeezing it. His eyes darted to the side as someone took a photo, and he gave a fake smile quickly, and then gave my hand a tug. "Kaerou?"

I smiled. He remembered. I nodded, reached to take his suitcase that had nearly been abandoned a few feet away as he sprinted through the crowd earlier to me, but he scolded me and took it himself. "Oi, hands off! How's the leg?"

I grimaced, and bent it for him slowly. "Sore, but on the mend. I don't need crutches anymore, I just need to walk slowly."

He blinked, distracted, and then shook his head as he took in what I said. "Oh, yes... good. Let's go slowly then." He smiled at me. "Yuri. Is that my coat?"

I blushed. "Y-Yes..."

Victor had left the vast majority of his wardrobe behind, including his collection of trench coats. I'd... I'd gotten used to wearing his beige one when I took Makkachin out for walks. It was... comforting. Victor beamed. "It suits you." Did it? I was wearing a blue Mizuno t-shirt underneath, black trackies and trainers. But Victor didn't care about the lack of co-ordination, and re-threaded his fingers through mine. "Come on!"

It was nearly noon in Tokyo Narita International Airport. For once, his flight from Sheremetyevo had left on time, and Victor had flown overnight to Tokyo. Originally he'd meant to fly into Fukuoka, but we had learnt a lesson from flying when I was competing; the inevitable transfers in random countries in Asia make the journey  _feel_  much, much longer, and we'd worked out that, between check-in and security and baggage claim, it barely made a difference just getting the Shinkansen from Tokyo to Kyushu. I'd been exhausted after the Rostelecom Cup, getting back to Fukuoka by transferring twice, anxious about any of my flights being late and delaying the whole thing even further. I'd just wanted to get to Japan; I knew the way from there. Victor had agreed with the sentiment, and a month ago, when he Skyped me to say he'd booked his flight, he went with the same principle; he had a single transfer, from St Petersburg's Pulkovo to Sheremetyevo.

"Can you sort out the train for me?" He asked, once he'd sent me his flight details. "I can just pick up the tickets from the JR ticket office in Narita, right?"

"Mochiron," I told him, stroking Makkachin's head as he gazed at his human's image on my laptop. I smiled. "You look better..."

He did. Victor had returned to St Petersburg to train with Yakov to return to competing, and after a week away, he still looked jet-lagged, haggard. I had stayed in Hasetsu with Makkachin, recovering from the fall. I missed him terribly. It had been Yakov's idea to book the flight back to Japan in advance, so that Victor had something to look forward to, to work towards. Yakov said Victor was barely concentrating as it was, it couldn't make things worse. It did wonders, for both of us, knowing that he was coming back.

And finally, there he was.

We pushed etiquette; he held my hand on the escalators going down into the train station. He balked at the length of the queue for the tourist ticket office, where people were queuing up to get their JR Rail Passes, and I pulled his hand and we bypassed the entire thing, slotting our tickets through the barriers to the Narita Express. I had everything ready for him.

He never suspected a thing, not even when I deliberately pushed him on to Shinjuku service and not the Ofuna, despite both running through Tokyo station. The N'EX was quiet, mostly tourists with lots of luggage, and finally Victor leant over under the cover of the backs of our seats and kissed me. Oh... I had missed kissing him... he hummed so happily after, and let his head fall into my shoulder, and I glanced about the carriage, checking no one was watching, feeling protective.

"I can't believe you came all this way..." He murmured, smiling at me. He frowned slightly, curious. "How did you get here?"

I shrugged. "I flew into Haneda this morning."

He frowned properly then. "What? You didn't need to do that, just to get the train back with me."

I smiled. "I know. But I wanted to." I squeezed his fingers, to mean it. "How was your flight?"

He was telling me about how bad the food was when the Express drew into Tokyo Station, and he frowned at the announcements in their multiple languages. "Yuri... isn't this our stop?"

I smiled innocently. "Not yet. See any good movies?"

He watched as the carriage nearly emptied of people and luggage, and shrugged, trusting me. He was frowning with confusion when we got off when the train terminated at Shinjuku. "I thought the Nozomi ran out of Tokyo..."

"I know," I told him, and took his backpack from him. I had no bags of my own to carry. "We're not getting the bullet train just yet. Come on!"

Victor followed me through the labyrinth that is the busiest train station in the world, his eyes feasting on every detail from the confusing signage in both Japanese and English, the shops selling bento boxes, the constant movement of people. Then we got outside, finally, and I lifted the only thing I had brought with me; an umbrella. "This way."

"Yuri... where are we going?" He ducked under the umbrella with me.

I smiled. "It's a surprise."

He beamed. He loves surprises.

I wasn't in a rush. We had come out the West Exit, hunched our shoulders and bent our heads under the umbrella into the rain, and we stopped as we walked past the Metropolitan Government Office, the building looking greyer in the downpour. We both smiled at the Olympic emblem proudly on display in anticipation of the Summer Games of 2020, and kept walking. I held the umbrella tightly so that we could both fit, and Victor pointed out that he was glad that his suitcase was waterproof, being tugged along behind us, and that I was wearing his coat. He was in just a grey hoodie, looking colourless in it, his hair limp from the journey. The colour drained further from his face as we got to our destination and I turned up the path towards it, and the penny dropped. "Yu... Yuri...?"

I smiled at him. "My treat. To welcome you home."

A month ago, when Victor told me when he was flying back to Japan, when he asked me to book the Shinkansen tickets for him, I had a think. By then the cast was off, and I was attending physiotherapy and doing exactly as the doctor ordered and was recovering well. I had already started helping Minami-kun with his choreography for his season, though I had yet to put my skates on. Otherwise... I was...  _bored_. Because of my leg I couldn't help out a lot at home, and without Victor there I was restless. I was happiest when I took Makkachin out, had gotten into the habit of chatting away to the dog as we wandered down the beach. We both slept in Victor's bed - our bed by then - I was surprised to be comforted by it, even though Victor was missing under the sheets. I would have missed him more if I had returned to my own bedroom, to my much smaller bed. I had no memories of Victor there.

When Victor told me he was going to be coming back to me for certain, I thought... I wanted some time alone with him, somewhere we didn't need to keep our voices down, somewhere I could welcome him back without everyone else there. If Victor had flown into Fukuoka I would have had to share him with my family, with the Nishigori's, with Minako-sensei as they welcomed him back as well... so when he said he'd booked the direct flight for Tokyo, an idea immediately clicked into place.

Over our many Skype nights, with Victor in a better mood now that there were finite days, he told me he'd been watching more Japanese films, or films set in Japan, because he missed it. We spent hours talking about Ghost in the Shell: Innocence and its philosophical aesthetics, about how funny he found Sanjuro and how he didn't realise how long Seven Samurai was, and how he now better appreciated Lost In Translation, even though he, like the majority of its Western audience, didn't understand the many layers of translation within the film. We were united in having seen it many years before, not understood it, and then watched it later with more maturity and liked it the more for it.

So when it came to looking for hotel rooms for a night away in Tokyo before heading home, there was really only one choice. A good thing that Team Japan were serious about investing in Minami-kun to get him to Olympic standard; they were playing me quite decently to do something I would happily have done anyway.

Earlier, when I had rushed in to drop my bag off before sprinting to Narita, I had gotten a little lost trying to find the right elevator to the right floor. Once I did however, it was all very familiar. I was glad I'd picked it; anywhere else would have paled in comparison. I was a little gutted that it was raining however; the Park Hyatt sports a magnificent view of Mt Fuji, and I knew that Victor had never seen it.

Victor was speechless. I hadn't seen him so quiet since I dragged him into Maria Dolores in Barcelona.

My bag had already been taken up to our room, and the woman who checked us in with perfectly pitched, easy professionalism showed us up. "Congratulations on your win in St Petersburg, Mr Nikiforov," she said as we took the lift up. He started, and thanked her in Russian automatically, before realising that she'd spoken in the same. He translated to me, making me smile.

Shrewdly, she opened the door for us, and went no further inside, offering her services should we require any assistance. Victor thanked her, in both Russian and Japanese, glad to be able to use both. Then... it was just us.

The room was enormous. There was a walk-in closet, not that we needed it, and the bathtub was huge, everything polished and gleaming in marble and metal and glass. The view, over thirty storeys up, overlooked my capital city in the downpour, but it still looked magnificent. The bed was king-sized, the pillows plump and the covers creaseless.

I felt Victor's eyes burn on me. I turned, and started. His face was completely expressionless... no, that's not accurate. His face was hard, severe... when he marched over and seized me in a searing kiss, it was merciless. He smiled when he looked down at his coat after it had fallen from my shoulders, from my arms, and then we made our bodies  _rejoice_.

"Oh god..." He murmured into my skin after. "I missed you so much..."

I laughed lightly, the best I could do when I was still trying to breathe again. I could tell... my limbs were still tingling. I hugged him tightly, wanting to be his pillow for as long as he let me, my thighs still hooked over his. This was exactly what I had been thinking of when I thought of keeping him away from Hasetsu...

His head on my chest, too tired to move from where he had collapsed in my arms, Victor was already starting to fall asleep. I chuckled as he struggled to keep his eyes open. "Come on, let's get cleaned up."

I took his hand and led him to the shower, washed his hair and body with the sandalwood heavy products, massaging my fingers over his scalp and ran my hands over his limbs, catching up with all the parts of him that I'd neglected in bed earlier. After, he hugged me for a while under the hot water, nearly fell asleep standing, and I gently pushed him out of the shower to dry off whilst I attended to myself. When I came out it was to find him rummaging through his suitcase for his toothbrush, and whilst he brushed his teeth I combed his hair, parting it just so, chuckling as it still fell over his left eye. When we were both done I wrapped my arms round him contentedly, and asked him what he wanted to do.

Victor peered over his shoulder up at me apologetically. "Gomen, Yuri. Is it alright to just sleep? I'm so tired..."

I knew. He had shadows under his eyes, but he'd had them before the flight. He'd been avoiding my questions about whether he was eating properly back in his flat alone in St Petersburg. I'd had a message from Yurio saying to feed Victor up; he didn't want to win so easily against the old geezer at the Grand Prix. It would be Victor's last chance to eat katsudon this season, Yurio put it. I felt very immature when I thought of something else...

I was his coach now. The thought made me smile. My first instruction to Victor, when we did get back to Hasetsu, was indeed to have one last XL, before the real hard work began.

I hung our towels up, and led him to bed, unashamedly naked with him. He curled into me, sighing. Before he stopped trying to keep his eyes open, he pressed a kiss to my jaw where he could reach. "Are you going to sleep too?" I shrugged. I'd been up early, but I wasn't tired. He frowned, not liking the idea of me doing nothing. "Stick a film on or something? My laptop's in my bag."

I got up, found it and went back to him, and he told me the password (I'm not telling  _you_!). I flicked through what he had downloaded, and smiled as I found the most obvious choice. By the time actor Bob Harris was checking into the Park Hyatt himself and meeting his new entourage, Victor was fast asleep on my chest.

I woke him by accident, when the translator said 'more...  _intensity_ ' and I couldn't help myself but laugh. He watched the scene with me and turned to me, his eyes already closing again. "What does he actually say?"

"Who, the director?"

"Hmm."

I thought, should I tease him? But then Victor suddenly opened his eyes and put a finger on my lips. "Actually, no, don't tell me." His hand fell and his eyes fluttered shut with a smile. "I want to work on my Japanese, so that the next time we watch this, I'll figure it out for myself."

He missed my smile, already falling asleep again. I liked the sound of that plan.

We both rolled with laughter when Mr Harris got his... erm... visitor. 'Let me go, Mr Harris!'... oh my god... Victor, wiping tears out of his eyes from laughing so hard, looked up at me and teased me. "You haven't arranged that too, have you?"

When the credits rolled, I woke up. I don't remember when I fell asleep too. I closed the laptop quietly, and peered down at Victor; he hadn't moved, was sleeping deeply. The rain was lashing almost silently against the window; I could tell it was windy, but I couldn't hear it for the triple glazing. I watched, hoping it would die down a little. My leg was... I needed to stretch it out. Too much sitting on the plane, and then the train, and then just standing in Arrivals. Walking to and from Shinjuku earlier had felt good. Gomen, Victor, but... I couldn't stay; doctor's orders.

"Victor...?" I whispered. He didn't even murmur. I sighed, disappointed; if he had woken, we could have gone together. It was alright though; it would be good to think for a little while. I gently slid out of his arms, shushed him as he frowned in his sleep. Now that I was committed to going alone, I wanted to let him sleep. I got dressed, checked my phone. I finally saw that Victor had messaged me. 

> Just got into Narita! Can't wait to see you! Love you, Vx

I smiled down at him. Was that me you were smiling about as you sent that message from the Arrivals lounge? Oh Victor... It gave me an idea. I found his phone, fallen out of his hoodie pocket on the floor from when I'd stripped it from him, and turned it on silent before I sent a reply, and put his phone on charge. I left his phone next to him so he'd see it when he woke, would pick my message up then, and then quietly crept out.

> Hope you slept well! Gone to Shinjuku-gyoen - join me when you wake? Love you too Yx

The concierge lent me a dry umbrella, and I stepped back out into the rain.

* * *

* * *

I reached out for him, and his absence woke me.

"Yuri...?"

My phone was next to me, on charge with his charger. His backpack - only a small one, an overnight bag really - was open next to my suitcase, from when I'd growled at him to get the lube I'd hoped to high heaven he'd brought with him, not in the mood to hunt for mine in the depths of my suitcase. I felt clean, too clean for post-coital... oh yeah. We'd showered together after... he'd washed my hair, massaged shower gel into my body, rubbing at the knots in my back, combed my hair... Yuri, did you do all that knowing that I would feel better for it then, when I woke? I felt so much better. The only thing missing was you, so I could tell you.

I sat up in bed, stared in awe at my surroundings again. I couldn't believe he'd done this for me. I couldn't believe he'd come to Tokyo just so I didn't get the bullet train alone. I couldn't believe he'd taken my gushing about a movie one late night over Skype and booked a night at the Park Hyatt. It must have cost a fortune... I'd stayed in some very nice places in my life, but nothing quite like this. I was in a standard room... yet it was nearly the size of my apartment in St Petersburg. The bed was so large we could fit into it three times over. The view, even with the rain, was magnificent from the sheer height. The bathroom was ridiculously opulent. I was half expecting my own entourage to show up, with a translator to follow me around and tell me to look into cameras with intensity.

It was the jet-lag, I was telling myself. I wanted to cry. I felt so spoilt. Yuri... no one had ever done anything like this for me.

Yuri... where were you? Wherever you were, I wanted to kiss you until I felt like I had thanked you enough.

I snatched up my phone, to call him, and stopped when I saw his message. It made me smile; he'd simultaneously acknowledged the message I'd sent him in the airport, unaware that he was waiting for me, and left me a note. I frowned though; Shinjuku-gyoen? I knew that I was in Shinjuku, but 'gyoen'? I racked my brains, trying to remember what Japanese I had learnt. 'Garden'? Or was it 'park'? In any case,  _yes_. I got up, rang him back as I started to get dressed.

"Ohaiyo!" He answered after a couple of rings.

I laughed. I remembered that one. "'Ohaiyo'? It's not morning!"

"But it is for you, sleepy-head," he replied, teasing. I smiled. His voice sounded light, happy. It made me want to run to find him, see the smile that went with it. "Sleep well?"

I nodded, forgetting he couldn't see, and ripped my suitcase open, searching for fresh clothes. I had spent more than enough hours in what I had been wearing, I was happy to leave those on the floor. "Hmm, I did, just woke up. Where are you?"

I could picture him grinning before he even started speaking. "I found it!" Found what, moya lyubov'? "The right spot! I'm in Shinjuku National Garden, it's about twenty-five minutes walk away, on the other side of the station."

I pulled my jeans up, my phone tucked between my cheek and my shoulder as I zipped them up over my briefs. "Shall I meet you there?"

"Hmm! Ano..." I sensed he had realised a dilemma. "I don't know how to describe how to get to where I am... I can meet you at the entrance? Shinjuku Gate."

I quickly dropped my phone onto the bed to pull my t-shirt on over my head and picked it up again. "Okay. Are you hungry? I'm  _starving_."

"Ah! Don't eat too much!" He scolded. I could hear his grin. "Minako-sensei told me I had to take you to a particular ramen place, so we're going there for dinner."

I had no idea what the time was; my body-clock was off-kilter, thinking it was closer to breakfast than dinner. All I knew was that my appetite was back. "I can get some bento from the station on the way?"

"Okay!" There was a pause... were you blushing? "Gomen, Victor. I meant to take you for sushi for lunch, but then..."

"But then I had  _you_  for lunch instead..."

"V-Victor...!"

I laughed. I had missed this so much. "Want anything too?"

"Whatever you're having. Just not too much! Don't ruin your appetite."

"Yuri, you know full well what my appetite is like..." I grinned, wondering if he'd pick up the subtext. It was a win-win; it would delight me if he did or if he didn't.

"Eh..."

I pulled a different jacket out of my suitcase - the typhoon season made everything unsuspectingly colder once you were soaked through, I'd learnt this last year in Hasetsu - pulled my wallet out of my backpack, looked around for the spare room card-key. Before I left Hasetsu to go train with Yakov in St Petersburg again I had made a point of not spending all my Yen; I would need it when I came back, adamant that I would be returning, and it was about to come in handy. Dressed, I stopped for a moment, thinking of whether I had everything, and then left. As I hit the button for the elevator, I had another idea. "Yuri?"

"Hmm?"

"Just thinking... I'm going to get a taxi, do a pit-stop at a 7-11, get some onigiri. I can't be bothered to walk."

"Victor..." He scolded. Yes, I know, I was being lazy. But twenty-five minutes was too long. "Ask the concierge to arrange one for you, get him to explain to the driver what you want to do, okay?"

"Okay. Can I get dorayaki too?"

"... Can you get me a custard one?"

A few minutes later I piled back into the taxi with a plastic bag full of things I hadn't eaten for over a month, and now that I had them I realised I had missed them. Such simple things; stuffed rice balls, custard-filled pancakes, aloe juice. The taxi driver looked a little confused that the Russian tourist in the back of his car seemed so happy to have so quickly and easily bought such common place things, was sat grinning at the bag they were in, yet not eating any of it. I took a sip of the iced-green tea though, and smiled contentedly.

Even though the ultra-tropolis that was Tokyo was a very unique city, and one I was not familiar with beyond past experience of competing there in nearby Yoyogi, I felt like I had returned home already. It was completely different to the quaint, steady pace of Kyushu, but... it was a feeling in my gut, one that had been blooming since my flight touched down on the runway of Narita, even before Yuri surprised me. No, earlier even than that... it had started when I booked the flight to Tokyo, seeing the capital city on my flight itinerary.

I had slept better that night, knowing. Even though I had only been with Yuri properly a few months, we had barely slept apart since we got together. He had lived with me in St Petersburg for a time, had spooned Makkachin for warmth through the Russian winter as I spooned him. With neither of them with me, my bed felt cold and overly quiet. Yakov was not pleased, but he never said 'I told you so'. He had told me I would find it hard, near impossible to return to competing if I took a break; neither of us had imagined that it would be because I was in love, and missing terribly my boyfriend.  _And_  my dog.

Ah, Makkachin. Yuri had kept him away from the manju; no more accidents. I was so looking forward to seeing him again. It had been strange, missing Makkachin but being glad that he was with Yuri; they were keeping each other company, each a promise to the other that I was returning. When I finally got back to Hasetsu, both Yuri and I spooned Makkachin. Then he huffed, too hot, and padded to and scratched at the door, asking to be let out, and he slept in Yuri's bed again, his humans back and normality restored.

My Japanese was, and I was very proud of this, good enough to understand the taxi driver when I paid him. I got out, quickly unfolded Yuri's still damp umbrella, paid the 200yen fee at the automatic gates, and went through. It was... eery. Even though the city loomed over the grounds of the National Garden, the sounds of it quieted to a faint echo. The smell of the rain on the grass, through the trees, kicking up the scent of the flowers, was incredible. There was barely anyone about either; with the rain continuing without a break, in the middle of the weekday afternoon, there was only the lightest scatter of tourists in either waterproofs or were already soaked through. Yuri was...

On his way down one of the paths, skipping gingerly over the puddles. He smiled warmly as he spotted me. I grinned back, approached...

And began to thank him exactly how I had been thinking of earlier. He looked a little alarmed for a second, pulled back to check we weren't being watched... and then I saw the look of 'oh fuck it' go through his mind as he pulled me back in, on tiptoe to reach. I used my umbrella to shield us from view.

I love those three inches between the top of his head and the top of mine. One of us has to stretch or bend to reach the other, but Yuri's actual height is so dependent on his mood I always feel protective of him. I hadn't yet found out how much I towered over him when I was in my skates, or how tenderly he would look at me whenever I used his shoulders to put my skate guards on.

"Have you been here long?" I asked, when I felt like we had pushed things for long enough.

He shook his head. "Half an hour maybe? I left the hotel an hour ago or so." He held out his hand to me. "Come! I want to show you..."

As we walked through the park, Yuri told me about a movie he'd seen, Koto no ha no Niwa, and how breathtakingly beautiful it was. The film was based mostly in Shinjuku-gyoen, and Yuri had been curious to see how the real thing measured up with the images that he'd seen. I hadn't seen it myself - he hadn't mentioned it before - and I wondered. "How does it compare?"

Our feet gave echoed thuds on the boardwalk, and he seemed to smile at that sound, like it had conjured a pleasant memory. Of the film maybe? Everything was so  _green_  around us, greener than seemed possible. Rain, particularly in Japan, adds incredible vibrancy to everything, even the concrete. "I'm not sure," Yuri slowly answered. Then he smiled at me. He was still holding my hand. "It's more favourable now that you're here to see it too."

He led me to a pavilion in the Japanese garden, and I admired the view for a long while as he took a seat, sighing. Incredible... If I listened hard, I could hear the traffic of the city, a constant hum, but once I stopped concentrating the sound couldn't hold within the park, and I heard nothing but the elegant tap of raindrops falling into the pond, the lick of koi tails, the birds complaining on the branches, and the rush of the rain. I turned back to my beloved. "Beautiful, Yuri..."

He looked up with a smile, and then away, blushing, knowing I wasn't just referring to the view. I grinned and sat down, grabbed his hand to stop him when he got up to sit on the other bench. Where did you think you were going? We ate the food I brought, and he told me the story of The Garden of Words. I wondered...

Before I got here and joined you... what had you been thinking about, as you found this spot where two lonely people met in the rain?

* * *

_The Garden Of Words, Makoto Shinkai (2013)_

* * *

Not as much as I'd hoped.

I'd hoped to find tranquility in the park, enough so that I could clearly look at my thoughts, and get my head in order. Instead I found myself so calm all I did was take in my surroundings, and thought of very little. It was peaceful, but not entirely helpful.

Victor was back, and I was happy again. I wanted to be able to think... what did that mean?

We hadn't been together very long; only a matter of months, even though I had been his friend for over a year. Still, not long. I was twenty four years old, retired from my profession when I hadn't intended to, and I didn't know what the future had in store for me, or even what I wanted it to. I knew only, at that point, that I wanted to stay with Victor for as long as he wanted me to stay with him, and that, inexplicably, he needed me so he could compete again.

It had been shocking, seeing him deteriorate so quickly on Skype. The camera of his laptop didn't hide how relieved he looked and sounded whenever we answered each other's calls. I wondered if I looked that bad too. It was a strange feeling, realising that my absence had such an effect on him. I'd never been in love before, had never had my heart broken or felt it complete. I hadn't known what to expect. I hadn't known that I... that I was that important to Victor.

By then I had come over the other side of my own grieving; I think by the time Victor left to go back to Russia to train, I didn't have anything left in me to mourn his loss all the more. My mind gave me a mercy; it focused exclusively on what was exactly in front of me, and I would think only as far as the evening, knowing I'd get to speak to him, see him again on my MacBook. Whenever my anxiety reared its ugly head with thoughts of Victor not returning, they made me furious. How dare such thoughts come, how dare they betray Victor like that, think so little of him? The stronger part of me stood firm; Victor was coming back, and I had all the proof I needed for that. He had barely taken anything back with him, had left Makkachin with me very deliberately. I slept in his bed, in his room, with his dog, with his things everywhere. He had told me it explicitly:  _Yuri, I'm coming back for you. Wait for me, please._

So I did. I had kept faith, as much as I could, and it had kept me going, had kept me patient enough until he returned. Still, I was relieved when one day, only a couple of weeks in, he rang and told me he wanted to come home sooner rather than later. I had to persuade him to stay another month - the plan had been the rest of the Spring and the whole of Summer - to get the most out of Yakov's coaching. I offered to come back to St Petersburg, even though... selfishly, I didn't want to. St Petersburg was never a place I called home, though for a time Victor's apartment had been my home,  _he_  had been my home. Victor declined; I was still recovering from my broken leg, hated the idea of me back on a plane over such a distance again.

All this... I could finally think when he was with me, sitting in comfortable silence watching the rain in Shinjuku-gyoen.

Eventually he shivered and turned to me. "Shall we go back and utilise that bathtub we've got?"

We walked back under a single umbrella, and Victor grinned as we passed through to the guest elevator. The staff members all acknowledged us, many of them bowing respectfully... it was a shock to realise that they all recognised  _me_.

In the foamy, aromatic water in the tub, I scolded Victor for being so thin, thinner than he ought to have been. He didn't even argue, just smiled ruefully. "You sound like Yakov."

"Good. You did ask me to be your coach, didn't you?"

His eyes widened at me, and then he laughed happily. "Yes, I did. Will you still?"

"I don't coach skeletons."

Victor slid his hand over my cheek. "Then you'd best feed me..." I rolled my eyes, used to him teasing me, and reached back and kissed him anyway. After, he stroked my cheek a little while longer. "You feel softer... have you put on weight?"

I cringed. I had. Nothing to worry about, but... I wasn't anywhere near as active as I used to be, and I couldn't stand living on broccoli and beansprouts again, particularly as... well, I didn't need to anymore. But I refused to return to being Kobuta-chan again. Victor however just smiled. "You look great. This is what I'll aim for, okay?"

I smiled, accepting this compromise of sorts, understanding what he was trying to tell me -  _don't worry about your weight_  - and hugged his arms round me a little tighter. He was sat behind me in the bathtub, my back pressed to his chest. When I had sank into the water in front of him I had groaned; my leg was aching, tested. I had it resting on the edge of the tub for intervals, at an awkward angle, and Victor was practically holding me upright so I didn't sink in the water.

For a stupid moment, it was tempting. To sink, I mean. I had a Herculean task ahead of me...

"Yuri."

I started, began to turn my head but Victor leant over my shoulder, pointing at... oh. The tap was so shiny it was reflecting the worry in my wide eyes. "What just went through your mind, to put that look on your face?"

I... I didn't want to tell you... you were just off the plane... But I didn't... I didn't like hiding things from him.

I turned in Victor's arms, letting my leg fall back into the water, sighing because it was so much more comfortable. He held me even tighter, so I didn't need to support myself in the tub, could just lean into him. I frowned as I rested my hand on his chest, feeling how thin he really was. When he had left he had been the opposite; too much katsudon and no competing. But that wasn't what went through my mind before.

"I'm scared..."

Victor frowned, worried for me. "Of what, moya lyubov'?"

I chickened out. I couldn't say it to his blue eyes, so I hid my face into his collarbone, said it to his skin instead. "That I'm going to fail you..."

My words echoed about the bathroom, smothering me. Then... "Oh Yuri... baka ga."

... Eh?

Victor gently lifted my head, held it with both hands so I couldn't escape. Please... "You can't...  _You can't fail me_."

I frowned. I didn't understand... how could I not fail him? I was wildly in over my head... how could  _I_  be Victor Nikiforov's coach? I was only Katsuki Yuri... I had only a handful of medals to my name to the boxes worth that he had. I barely knew how to win Gold myself... how could I coach him to win the Grand Prix Final when I never had done? And it _had_ to be to win. Anything less than Gold would be... I could only fail him...

"Yuri, do you love me?"

...  _What?_

"Yes..." The word slipped out of my mouth so easily even I was surprised. Victor looked surprised too, had perhaps expected to be kept waiting. But of course I loved him.

"Do you believe in me?"

More than in myself...

"Will you support me, in this?"

In anything, Victor...

He smiled widely as I nodded, that heart shape growing. "Then you  _can't_ fail me, because that's the  _least_  that you can do as my coach. Those are the first three things that I need you do for me, if I'm going to go for Gold at the Grand Prix Final. I need you to..." Victor's words caught in his throat and he leant forward, resting his forehead against mine. "I-I need you to love me, believe in me, and support me. I can't do it without you.  _I don't want to do it without you_. The rest we can figure out, the rest will be easier than  _that_."

A tiny voice in my head reminded me that Victor had won five consecutive seasons, across the Grand Prix, the European Championships and the World Championships. He didn't really need me. He had done all of that long before I came into his life. Yet to win the sixth...  _I had destroyed Victor Nikiforov_ , if he needed me so much to help him do it all again. Then a stronger voice barged in, one that sounded more like me.  _Tough_ , it said. Victor was mine now, I loved him, and he loved me. If I was who he needed in order to win again, he had me. I wasn't giving him up, not anymore, not now that he was there with me again. I was going to help him win Gold, even if it was the last thing I did.

I nudged his nose out the way and kissed him. 'My love', he calls me. Mine too.

* * *

* * *

Yuri, your motivations do work in some very curious ways... That's not a criticism. You're one of the strongest people I know.

We showered again after our bath - Yuri had clambered on to my lap, kissed and touched me to insanity, and we soiled the water - and... I didn't know what had gone through his head just then, but... even though by making love to me he told me that I had him, I felt...  _claimed_. I felt like I was watching him jog laps up and down the corridor at the Cup of China again. I didn't dare ask him what went through his mind, lest I break the spell. And... his touch felt like heaven. I was very well distracted.

And after, I was  _starving again_. My stomach growled loudly when we were in the shower, and Yuri laughed so hard he nearly choked. Like earlier when I was exhausted, he led the way. With just a towel round his waist, he opened up my suitcase, started rummaging about. "Have you got a nice shirt to wear? The ramen place is only small, casual, but let's get a drink in the bar here after."

"Suntory time?" I teased, and he chuckled back, thinking the same. Irony however is that he doesn't like whiskey. Yuri doesn't really like drinking anything; he'll drink what you thrust into his hand, because he'll feel like he has to, but chances are he won't enjoy it. He and Phichit drank Thai beer together, and discovered Baileys during their time in Detroit, but it gets sickly after too much, and it's not cheap from the import tax. He'll drink sake for special occasions, because it's traditional, but won't elect to drink it at any other time. He does like plum wine, but he doesn't like the hangovers. Champagne however... give him one glass and he'll struggle to decline, but he'll think he should because he definitely won't say no to the second glass, or the entire bottle. And if you don't stop him, the second bottle.

Yuri had brought only the one smart shirt - black, matched with black trousers. It reminded me of his  _Eros_  costume, but distinctly  _not_  androgynous - and I plucked out exactly the same from my suitcase deliberately, not caring about the creases. He didn't notice, which made me giggle. At the door, I trailed my eyes up his body, from his smart shoes, frowning over his trousers that hid his shapely legs, smiled at how his shirt didn't hide the faint dip at his waist, and giggled at how high he'd buttoned his shirt up. I reached out before he could stop me, unbuttoned a few - not many, nowhere near the V that his  _Yuri On Ice_  costume had sported - and teased his chin up.

Odd. Maybe it was because I had been away, but I'd never noticed this before. When Yuri slicked his hair back, for-goed his glasses, as handsome as he looked... it was his skating persona. Yuri brought so much of himself to the ice, but only facets of himself. I wanted the whole of him, I wanted Yuri. So I went back to the bedroom, plucked his glasses from the bedside table where he had left them, and handed them to him. He looked surprised, then he just smiled and shrugged, smiled all the brighter when I returned to focus for him. Ah, that was it, perhaps. He was wearing too much black... the blue was needed to offset.

Besides, he was the one who had the directions on his phone, and I hadn't learnt how to read kanji or katakana yet. It reminded me of when I went to London many years ago, went on the underground. I really didn't want to be one of those tourists that suddenly stopped in the middle of the walkway to re-check which line they were meant to be transferring to. Yuri, and I love him for this, refused to be like that as well; at Shinjuku Station, he knew exactly which train tickets we needed, and he guided me to the Northbound platform of the JR Yamanote line. As we stood on the busy train circling through central Tokyo, Yuri told me his vague memories of competing as a Junior in Yoyogi, remembering only struggling with nerves. I told him that the last time I had competed in Yoyogi for the World Championships, I'd hoped to see him there, which made him blush.

This time he told me which station we were getting off at; Nishi-nippori, to change to the Chiyoda line Eastbound to Kita-senju. The ramen bar - for which he didn't have a name, only directions from Minako, who insisted that it was the best ramen she'd ever eaten in her life, far  _far_  better than the ramen at Nagahama in Hasetsu - was only five minutes walk away. As we followed her directions - which were, according to Yuri, absolutely spot on - he told me that originally the recommendation came from a fellow ballet instructor, and Minako came here every time she was invited to do classes in Tokyo. We came round the corner, looking more and more confused because we were on a residential street, and came across a 'queue' outside what I thought was just someone's house at first. Then we got a little closer, and I saw that there was a ticket machine outside, and a banner of flags above the sliding door, which was closed, yet nevertheless outside a middle-aged man in a suit crouched on the ground smoking a cigarette, two teenage boys still in their smart school uniforms chatted away in Japanese about something on one of their phones, and an elderly gentleman likewise smoked.

I say 'queue', because I had assumed, from his proximity to the door, that the man in the suit was first. No; two men came out, smiling and loud with laughter, and a sour-faced man stuck his head out and gestured for the teenagers to come in. This last man noticed us, did a double-take, and spoke to Yuri in Japanese, who bowed his head and replied respectfully. The man nodded, and vanished again inside, closing the door.

I should point out again that it was still raining. We had only our umbrellas for shelter. The other two men had likewise come prepared, and seemed in no hurry.

Yuri again sorted out our tickets for the ramen - I told him I'd have whatever he was having, he told me there was a choice of broth, and then the extra buttons were for extra noodles or toppings.

Then we fell into awkward silence. I got a case of the giggles. Yuri could tell; he elbowed me subtly in the ribs. It didn't help. Thankfully, I don't think our fellow queuers noticed, or perhaps more accurately they didn't care; the man in the suit got his phone out after his cigarette and started playing... I swear it was Pokemon Go... The older man lit up again. He threw away his barely started cigarette as he was allowed in (no one came out) and I had to focus on watching the cigarette fizzle out in the puddle to try and control myself. I was so glad Yuri was there. If he wasn't... well, I wouldn't have known what to do. I'd have probably left, totally clueless.

The suited man was allowed in when two other men came out, and Yuri and I were alone for a grand total of five seconds when it seemed like the queue, such as it was, grew; three more groups of people appeared and dawdled around us, including an English couple who looked just as uncertain as I did. Less than a minute after that, Yuri and I were allowed in.

 _The smell_...  _I could live on that smell..._

It was  _tiny_. The place was barely the size of Yuri's old bedroom. Yuri handed over our tickets to one of the two young men who worked with extraordinary efficiency on cooking noodles for  _exactly_  the right length of time before adding them to bowls of broth that had sat for  _precisely_  so many minutes, and then chicken or beef was sliced up  _just so_ , with shiitake and bamboo shoots, and then all of a sudden I was being handed a bowl and...

_... VKUSNO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

There was a pause, when I realised I had exclaimed this aloud,  _very loud_ , and then Yuri burst out laughing, choking on bamboo. The man in the suit and the elderly man looked at me like I was crazy, their own bowls of ramen forgotten for a second, before they both returned to eating, deciding to ignore the crazy Russian sat next to them at the counter. The teenagers sniggered, and then carried on chatting away, though this time more furtively.

"Is it like the food that Gods eat?" Yuri teased.

I lifted my hands up plaintively. "Gomen'nasai, Hiroko-sama..." I genuinely felt like I was cheating on Yuri's mother's cooking. Yuri laughed at the honorific.

Having struggled to not talk for several minutes outside, I said  _absolutely nothing_  after my apology, and just ate.

...

... Sorry, I can remember it again now, the taste, the smell... oh, it was so good...

When my belly was sated, and I was in a food coma - Reader, I tell you, I could have happily died there, as long as that ramen was in Heaven... with Yuri, obviously (oops) - I contentedly listened to Yuri talk and eat. He was relating a story from when he was a teenager, still practicing at Minako's studio, and he witnessed her shamelessly trying to hint to a rather delicious looking delivery man to invite her out for a drink. Unfortunately her forwardness was scaring the much younger man, and he eventually escaped without issuing any invitation. Unperturbed, she still went over to the window to admire the young man's ass as he jumped into his truck and drove off. It was then that Yuri realised his mentor, his auntie figure, and a very close friend... was a bit of a cougar. (A couple of years later, at our wedding, Chris would make me laugh so hard that I snorted champagne up my nose when he lamented that he wished he was  _just a little bit bi_  because he had no doubt that she'd show him a  _fantastic_  time.)

Whilst Yuri was telling me all this, I was noticing what he did not. At the end of the bar, I had prime view of the room, such as it was, and I couldn't help but be amused by the fact that Yuri hadn't noticed, in the slightest, that  _everyone_  knew who he was. I was certain that the teenagers had snuck a photo before they left (I was right, it was trending locally on Twitter hours later), and the man in the suit and the elderly man had both cast glances our way, at  _Yuri_ , silently asking themselves...  _was that Katsuki Yuri, the champion figure skater?_  One of the chefs definitely knew who we both were, because he kept blushing every time I looked at him, and every time he looked at Yuri, and he'd whispered something excitedly to his fellow chef. Later, I laughed when they apologised for interrupting our meal - we had both finished eating already - and could Katsuki-senshu please sign a postcard for them to put up on the wall,  _onegaishimasu!_  They took a photo as well, with the other patrons at the time; it was on the wall when we returned a couple of years later on vacation. The sour-faced man had a magnificent smile in the photograph.

You can just catch the glint of Yuri's ring on my left hand on Yuri's shoulder in the photograph...

"Gomen, Victor..." I turned to him, frowning at him. Baka, what were you apologising for? "I should have booked for us to stay longer, so we could go sight-seeing..."

I glanced about. We were alone on the Chiyoda Westbound platform, no one was looking. I pulled him into me by my borrowed trench coat and kissed him, grinning as he squawked in protest for being in public. "Baka, this is perfect. I want to see  _you_ , not some sights."

Yuri blushed, glanced about too, and then kissed me back in return, his fingers in my hair at the top of my neck. "I... I just want to see you too."

I smiled then, and hugged him, swayed us slightly on the platform. I buried my head into my coat that he was wearing, and then burst out laughing. "You... You smell and taste of the ramen!" He stiffened in my arms, and then laughed as well.

I held him until someone came along, seconds before our train arrived. The train was quieter by then, and we sat closely together in contented silence. At Nishi-nippori, he turned to me and asked me how Yurio was. I chuckled, and we spent the long loop on the Yamanote line back to Shinjuku giggling over our favourite Russian teenager's antics. Not all that long ago we had thoroughly embarrassed the boy with a sixteenth birthday cake (with all the candles) at practice, because he refused to take the day off, and then had to because we were being - deliberately - so annoying that he decided to leave anyway.

I didn't tell Yuri this then, because I didn't want to sour the mood, but it had been strange, training alongside Yurio for my comeback. Before, when he and Yuri were training together to compete for the Europeans and the Four Continents respectively, and then the Worlds, they had formed a very signature relationship. Yuri encouraged the younger skater openly, even though he knew that they would both be competing for the same Gold. Yurio was equally encouraging, although... in his own way. They made each other better skaters, because they pushed each other, inspired the other to work harder. More often than not, Yurio was the one who yelled out first what Yuri was doing wrong with his jumps, which made Yuri more consistent, and when Yurio was getting frustrated with the repetitiveness of Lilia's coaching, it was Yuri who he'd turn to, who would calm him down and help him find the feeling he was looking for.

But with Yurio and myself... we were both haunted by Yuri's absence. Yurio had found his inspiration to skate in Yuri, was struggling with his anger over Yuri's retirement, having worked so hard to prevent it at the Grand Prix Final, and I couldn't inspire him in the same way anymore. At the same time, I missed Yuri terribly, was missing my inspiration too. The only thing we had left of him was his choreography that I was skating to, which meant that Yurio didn't take his frustration out on me for as long as I was skating Yuri's programs, though he had been initially furious that I had left Yuri behind in Hasetsu. The ice wasn't big enough for the both of us. We had both been sad to part, but relieved as well.

Yurio was also being distracted by one of Yakov's new students, a very pretty skater who'd just won the Junior Women's World Championship, and was looking to make a successful senior debut. It was this that I told Yuri on the train back to the hotel, because it was hilarious; none of us had any idea why, but tiny Eygenia (she was just over five foot, she was shorter than Yurio) was sweet as honey to all of us, but if Yurio showed up the two would start arguing within seconds, rubbing each other up the wrong way ( _definitely_  the wrong way). The last time I'd seen the two of them, they were screaming at each other about the merits, or lack of, of the cult of King JJ, their noses barely an inch apart, faces red from shouting, eyes glaring at each other, seeing  _only_  each other. I had a bet on with Mila over how long it would be before there were developments (she said before the Grand Prix series started, I said before the Final was over).

(We were both wrong in the end; someone else came along and asked Eygenia out. Yurio stupidly dared her to say yes... so she did. By the time that was over, a year later, he'd moved on, and started sleeping with someone else. Baka... both of them, baka.)

But in Tokyo, sharing an umbrella through Shinjuku, we weren't to know that, and laughed at young, ridiculous love. Yuri, smiling widely at the thought that our friend might finally be experiencing eros, called softly to the heavens; "good luck, Yurio! Davai! Ganbattene!"

I thought of... what had we said...

_"What do you want me to be to you? A father figure?"_

_"Īo..."_

_"A brother, then? A friend?"_

_"Hmm..."_

_"Then, your boyfriend, I guess... I can try my best."_

_"No-no-no-no-no! I want you to stay who you are, Victor!"_

I wondered who had wished me good luck. Whoever they were, I needed to thank them, though not how I wanted to thank Yuri. That's what I thought when I ordered a bottle of champagne before Yuri could stop me at the bar, not that he tried hard to stop me after I said it was because we were celebrating. The bartender overheard, and asked what the occasion was, and unexpectedly I found myself explaining that it was a reunion, that we'd been doing long-distance for the last month and couldn't do it any longer, and that my boyfriend had surprised me by coming all the way from Kyushu to pick me up from the airport and was treating me to a night in Tokyo before we went home. The bartender grinned and congratulated us, sympathised with us, and told us about how he couldn't wait to see his girlfriend again. Then he got called away, and...

... And I got lost in Yuri's big, smiling, bemused eyes. "Nani?" I asked.

He shook his head, leant in. "Nanimonai." He kissed me, short and sweet, a blink-and-I-would-have-missed-it moment, his hand on my leg. "I was... I was just thinking how lucky I am."

I smiled back. So had I.

He started telling me about how Yuuko had been thanking her lucky stars recently; she'd grabbed Yuri one day, shoved him into the Ice Castle control booth, and confided in him that she was terrified that she was pregnant again. Yuri blushed at the details she'd suddenly offloaded on to him, unable to relate what those details were, but I gathered that Mother Nature was running late, and the last thing that Yuuko wanted was even more children. Three, all at once, was more than enough, thank you. I laughed in all the right places, hummed and erred to encourage Yuri along, but really... I was thinking about how once, he never used to talk. But he did with me, now. He'd been like this all day, chatting away easily, more than easily, as though he had barely spoken for the last month, and it was all coming out now that I was there again in person to listen.

He talked so much he took forever to eat his ramen earlier, couldn't finish (I finished it for him), and so much that he barely drank his champagne. Then, he slowly trailed away into tired, contented silence, and I took his hand. "Want to go to bed?" I asked quietly. He smiled and nodded. We left the rest of the bottle to the bartender.

We made love again, taking our time, remembering all the things we liked, switching positions to make it last longer and make it feel better for both of us, the pauses needed to keep going. When I finally came, I could barely breathe, couldn't make a sound, lost in blinding pleasure, barely cognisant of Yuri's agonised moans beneath me. Slowly I became aware of his arm reaching behind him to make sure I didn't move; he found no protest from me, and I nuzzled the back of his shoulder blade. Eventually I slid off his back to his side, keeping as close as I could, and still Yuri could barely move, could barely keep his eyes open. For him, it was time to go to sleep, coming up to midnight; for me, it would be a while yet before I was tired, and I was waking up to my annoyance, even after my body had been shattered with euphoria. I got up and ran a facecloth under the tap, came back and cleaned up both up, laughing as I had to maneourve Yuri's used-up limbs. I pulled the duvet over us, over him, tucked him in and kissed him wherever his skin came close, and when I lay back at his side again Yuri slowly lifted a hand to my cheek. "Not... not tired yet?"

I shook my head ruefully. "No... I slept too deeply earlier."

Yuri grinned, even as his eyes fluttered shut. "And I thought I was the one with stamina..."

I giggled, burrowed in and kissed him. "You are, moya lyubov', but according to my body clock it's not even dinner time."

His eyes opened just a bit. "Are you hungry?" His hand gestured limply towards the bedside table, where the phone was. "You can order room service if you want..."

I shook my head again. "No, Yuri. I'm fine." I hugged him a little tighter. "Go to sleep, baby."

He nodded, with no complaint. "Stay with me until I do...?"

I nodded, and smiled as his breathing evened out almost immediately. It had been a long day for him. Thank you for everything, Yuri.

After a while, I slipped out of bed, restless. I went to the bathroom, enjoyed the novelty of warmed toilet seats again. I thought about going back to the bar, if it was still open, but I didn't want a drink, and I certainly didn't want a drink alone. Maybe go to the gym for a while? No, not after the champagne, it would make me feel sick. The pool? Would it be open this late? No, they shut at ten... Ah, I knew... I quietly picked my clothes up off the floor, got dressed again, grabbed my phone and the spare room key-card, and slipped out.

I wandered through the lobby, admiring the art work, the interior decoration, the views of the city from the windows. Incredible... it had barely changed from the time when Lost In Translation was filmed there, nearly over a decade ago, yet it felt timeless, perfectly designed to be luxurious but not so much that you felt like you had to keep your hands off the exhibits, as though you were in a museum. I wandered along the bookshelves, and whilst I didn't actually touch anything, my hand still raised up, trailing along in the air, close. There was something about the wood, the softness of the carpet... it almost felt homey.

A couple of staff members asked if I needed anything, if I was alright even. To the first I thanked them but declined, to the second I admitted I was just jet-lagged. They came back with a bottle of water, offered to open the swimming pool just for me. Touched, I said no anyway, asked when they would be opening it as normal. 6am, they reminded me. Maybe, if I was still awake at dawn, I could do laps before Yuri woke, have breakfast together. Check-out was at noon, and our train was at about 2pm; Yuri had suggested going for sushi as he had originally planned for lunch, get supplies for the long ride on the Shinkansen.

No one had ever done anything like this for me. For a gesture that was far from modest, Yuri is always modest about this; he doesn't like mentioning it, or having it brought up, but it is one of his best memories, particularly from that time. This was something he did for me, and only me,  _us_ , no one else. Whilst photos from Narita, the trains, the park, and the ramen bar trended across Twitter, none did of our stay at the hotel; it would have been a tremendous faux pas to blast to social media our presence, lest we do the same to our fellow guests. I found out later that he didn't tell anyone what he was planning, beyond that he was going to go to Tokyo to meet me and bring me home; they all seemed surprised, then realised they ought not to be, that we hadn't done any sightseeing, that we had been busy with other priorities.

I really do mean it;  _no one had ever done anything like this for me_. Nor had I ever done anything like it for someone else. Until I met Yuri, no one had mattered even half as much as he did to me, until I met Yuri no one had ever treated me like I mattered that much to them. I had lived a life without compromise; if I needed something or wanted something, I made my own efforts to attain it. Yuri said once that this made it difficult to buy gifts for me, yet... he's never gone wrong. It would never have occurred to me to actually come here, not because it was out of reach - let's be blunt, I was better off than he was - but... it simply wouldn't have occurred to me to spoil myself that much. Yet... it was perfect.

I had no idea how to pay him back in kind. It would take a while to admit this to him. When I did, and he saw how much it was troubling me, he begged me to stop. He told me... he told me that I loved him. I had already paid it forward. He told me that I had given up my entire life for him... a single night in a luxury hotel wasn't anywhere near paying me back.

Still, not knowing that yet, I was at a loss. I thought about everything we had done that day... I knew why he'd picked the hotel, and guessed that Minako must have been insistent that we try the ramen bar, and that listening to her stories of going there after ballet instruction would have made it stick in Yuri's mind. So... why Shinjuku-gyoen? He had told me about the film he'd seen that was set there, but I had the distinct feeling that it was no mere whim that took him there, without me even, and why he had asked me to join him once he had found the pavilion in the Japanese garden, in the pouring rain no less? We had been there for over a couple of hours... what inspired that so, Yuri?

I was glad I had my phone on me; I couldn't remember the name of the film, but Google made it easy. In the film's poster, there was the pavilion, far greener in the poster than real life, but beautifully vivid in a way that the real thing hadn't been. I started watching The Garden Of Words on my phone in the lobby, disturbing no one. It took less than a minute to realise I needed a bigger screen and better sound quality.

I crept back into our room, checked that Yuri was undisturbed. He hadn't even moved, looked peaceful. I smiled at the sight; the curtains were still open, and the light pollution from below were enough to make the room glow. I closed the curtains, so dawn would come and go without our attention. I stripped again, picked up my laptop and Yuri's headphones from his backpack, and settled in, reloaded the film. The light of the screen made him shuffle, but closer, as though in recognition.

Segoi... before the titles came, I understood. I'd never seen animation that sublime. A strange tale however. But... I sympathised. I was twenty-eight, and though I had not experienced cruelty like Yukino-san, I too had questioned what I was doing with my life, until Yuri came along, and woken me up again. As for Takao... I could understand why Yuri might sympathise with him; they both had dreams that seemed unusual, out of reach perhaps... had you too, Yuri, questioned in your youth whether your dreams were beyond you? Had you doubted your own talents? Had you thought that no one thought you talented? Do you still?

As the credits rolled and the seasons changed, I was shocked to find that Yuri was awake, watching too. I pulled the headphones off, apologised in a whisper. He shook his head. "What did you think?" He asked nervously, as though it would mean something if I had disliked it.

I smiled. "I'm glad we went there today. Thank you for taking me."

I missed the final scene, cuddling Yuri to me. I had realised, though not so concisely then, how I could pay him back.

No matter what your dreams are, Yuri, because I know that you'll be afraid that they'll be impossible... don't ever doubt that I'll be here, and I'll do all I can to help you realise them.

And with that, I fell asleep in his arms, home again.

* * *

* * *

To be continued in

_Everything on the Ice_


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